27th of Sage’s Vigil, Year of the Horde
I remember her well, that an old gypsy fortuneteller at the Thurdsnail Country Fair. I couldn’t have been much more than ten or eleven, and I incessantly hectored my mother until she took me to have my foothairs read. The old woman looked at one foot, then the other, plucking at the longest and curliest hairs from each with long fingernails and a practiced hand. “This one,” she cackled as her gold-capped teeth glinted in the dim candlelight of her tent, “this little one will meet Kings.“
I smiled. My mother handed over the few silvers it all cost, and we went home. That night after dinner, she handed me a box of Eberheart King’s Wonder Cleaning Scrubbing Pads and with a grin pointed me in the direction of a large pile of dishes. “On you go, Arnold–time to meet your Kings!”
Today, however, I met another king–a real king, His Royal Highness King Ezgara Diskanal. He didn’t have magic singing bubbles or that lemon-clean scent, but otherwise it was an altogether more impressive experience.
Following the successful rescue of the survivors from Phirul, my friends and I (minus Kiira and Noctuz, who had research they wished to continue on the zombie plague) had been taken to the city of Tamarin for the royal audience. We were escorted on the way by the affable Tasther the Druid, and a small detachment of soldiers led by a Sergeant Cloud. As has often been the case as of late, our trip was far from unexciting. A little more than a day after we had set forth, we came across a small bend on the road where a log and cart seemed to form a makeshift barricade. Segreant Cloud, the leader of the detachment held up her hand to halt the party.
My ranger friend spoke up. “Viggo think it is am-bush. Tree chopped, not falled by wind. No is good am-bush too, is very obvious.”
The sergeant gestured for a couple of her men to scout the obstacle, as Viggo continued his commentary.
“..Me think it be something to draw our lookings….how you say that, Arnold?”
“Ruse? Bait? A distraction?” I offered helpfully, sharing much the same misgivings about the entire situation.
At this point, a huge clawed hand emerged from the obstacle to knock one of the soldiers aside. A vicious looking bugbear clambered onto the log before us, as the wounded soldier screamed in fear and pain.
“…yes, that csúnya lidérc-állat there that is scratching screamy soldier.. he is dis-trac-tion, so we all go forward like silly little lemmings…”
Sergeant Cloud, clearly paying little heed to the considerable derision in Viggo’s tone nor his general disdain for the martial prowess of Tamarinian soldiers, ordered her troops to charge the creature. I swear I could hear him roll his eyes, if eyes could be heard rolling.
“…so that OTHER sneaky creatures attack us from other side. Is obvious, like when bird pretend to have broken wing or when kobold offer to share wine.” With this Viggo drew his swords, and stared into the woods to either side of us. He soon had the confirmation he was seeking as a single black arrow hurtled past us and struck Tasther in the neck. The druid fell to the ground, moaning in pain. Moments later, a half dozen or so hobgoblins burst from cover to charge upon us. Off in the distance, the soldiers and bugbear were now locked in combat.
Thor was in his element, of course. “Ah dornt caur if they think they’re sneaky, as lang as they bleed when they tak’ an axe in th’ heed!” Wielding his mighty blade, he strode forward with a shout, Viggo by his side. Inspired by their example, I hid behind a small embankment, and began to snipe with my sling. Dirock threw his invocation of Kord’s mighty power into the fray.
The first few foes went down easily enough, but the last few proved to be much more formidable opponents. I dashed forward, to assist Viggo with Petunia’s sharp edge, the two of us maneuvering with well-practiced art to disadvantage our enemies. Finally, our company triumphed, but not before taking some deep cuts and ugly bruises that had need of our cleric’s attentions. Tasther, fortunately, was not badly wounded, thanks to his remarkable regenerative powers. As for the soldiers, they slew the bugbear and were full of self-congratulation at their victory, seemingly oblivious to how their frontal assault had left our flanks unguarded.
The rest of our trip to the capital was largely uneventful, or as uneventful as a trip-to-meet-the-king can be. There were were met by the King’s Chancellor and his staff, and accommodated in a fine stately house upon the Denaw River. This wasn’t my first visit to Tamarin, as Viggo and I had travelled there several times about the Laughing Skua. However, I did view it with a particular new perspective in light of recent events: this city, to my great pleasure, was zombie-free.
Our audience with the King was full of all the pomp and majesty that one might expect: rows of gleaming soldiers and silk-clad courtiers, choruses of trumpets, rows of dignitaries. Viggo, devoid of the slightest regard for—or even rudimentary knowledge of—protocol, enjoyed himself greatly, chatting with confused ambassadors about the value of elk spittle for improving digestive regularity, borrowing the trumpets from surprised trumpeteers to determine their utility as moose-calls, and expressing his concern to the king about his limited royal sexual prowess (evidenced, in my friend’s eyes, by the fact he had but one wife). All-in-all it was quite the day, especially given the royal gifts that we all received.
With our audience over, we found ourselves at a crossroads of sorts. What were we to do? If our small band of adventurers, our Company of the Ivory the Goat, should stay together, to what purpose should we commit ourselves?
The answer would come from an unexpected source.
